There and Back Again:Or so I Hope
by Culumacilinte
Summary: Girl falls into ME, joins the Fellowship, becomes best buds with Merry and Pippin, etc. I know it's an overused theme, but hey! Pleez read- I hand out Lembas to reviewers. This is a rewrite of There and Back Again (perhaps): A Humans Tale- it's better too
1. Chapter One

Chapter One: Many Meetings

Disclaimer: No- I don't own Lord of the Rings... However, I do own myself, and Adunaciriel.

I love fanfiction. I've read many fanfic's where the author finds themselves in The Lord of the Rings. Some of them really are quite stupid about what they do in Middle-Earth. Really, really stupid. So when I took a walk one evening through a forest and came out in the wild lands just south of Rivendell, I knew what not to do.

I somehow managed to find my way to Rivendell and promptly collapsed with exhaustion at the front gate. When I woke up in the morning in a sumptuously soft bed with a fluffy comforter and silken sheets, I wondered briefly where in Great Eru's Arda I was (I actually do say that). The dark beamed ceiling above me was familiar, but not as if I had seen it before. I was puzzled. I sat up and looked around and my confusion deepened, this room, the architecture, the view from the carven window beside the bed, everything was familiar. It couldn't be... could it? This was Rivendell- I knew it almost intimately, having visited in dreams, theaters, and concept designs uncounted times. As I sat gaping, a figure robed in rich red velvet swept in.

"What the fu-!?" I spluttered, just remembering to shut up so the figure wouldn't hear what was clearly not a term used often in Middle-Earth. "M-Master Elrond," I stammered, "greetings."

He inclined his head graciously. "And to you, mellonin." I smiled, 'my friend', he had called me. I paused for a moment,

"Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo."- "May the stars shine upon the hour of our meeting."

"Ah..." he chuckled gravely "'tis good to meet one not of the elven kind who speaks the ancient tongue." I smiled up at him, though still rather awed.

"I thank thee, Master Elrond." I made sure to talk like a proper inhabitant of the World at that time.

"So," Elrond said, "What is thy name and where did you come from?" That required a fast bit of thinking.

"Em... from Rohan I am come." I said, damn, how was I supposed to come up with a Rohirric name? I dredged up what knowledge I had of the tongue of the Rohirrim. "...Haleth is my name". He arched one of those imposing eyebrows at me,

"Indeed? Seldom do the Rohirrim come to Imladris, and even less often the women of that country. Did you bring no gear? No weapons?"

"I was... (another frantic search for the right word) waylaid by orcs at night as I slept. They took my pack and my sword and bow, and yet harmed me not, though 'tis a mystery to me why they did not kill me." I'm not sure he believed me, the way he looked at me from under those eyebrows, but it was the best I could do. At any rate, he did not seem disposed to question me further at that moment.

"I shall send one of my house with clothes so that you may join us at table." He said, and swept out again. I blinked, it could be a dream, I supposed, but somehow, it didn't seem like it.

I got out of bed and stretched, finding that the elves had clothed me in soft pajamas and had folded my clothes (cargo pants and my "wise-ass" t- shirt) and put them on a bedside table. I flushed red, wondering how on Arda I was going to explain those.

As I sat lost in my thoughts, an elf walked in. She had a fair pale face, and long, raven-dark hair.

"Im omenlë Haleth. Nin esse'na Adunaciriel." She said- "I greet thee Haleth. My name is Adunaciriel."

"You are from Rivendell?" I asked, immediately puzzled by her name, which meant 'Maiden of the Western ships' For an elf who was not from the Havens to have the word 'ship' in their name was extremely unusual.

"Thy name, I mean- 'ship maiden'?"

"Ah, yes" she said, amused, "My mother is of the Teleri. I came here in my youth seeking of the wisdom of Elrond and this is my home, such as it is. I seldom stay in one place for long, for my soul is that of a wanderer. Even to the far countries of Rhûn and Harad, I have been, and yet I am not content. I fear in time I must make the journey to the Havens and depart at last from hither shores..." she sighed, staring off into space, seemingly forgetting my presence. Then she started

"I am sorry, I meant not to burden you with my troubles." I yawned,

"'S okay" Damn! I knew I was bound to screw up somewhere, what to say now? "Um, I mean, er, eh, 'ti-'tis fine..." I trailed off lamely into silence. Adunaciriel looked at me piercingly.

"I think," she said, "that you are not from the Mark, whatever you say. I have been in that land many times, and... you are different. To any, perhaps, but one of the Rohirrim, or one who knows them and their ways, you would seem as one of them, but...Where didst thou come from, that you endeavored to hide it from us?"

My eyes darted around the room, as if searching for a way out of the bind I was in, none was to be found.

"Would you believe me if I told you?" I asked, cringing mentally at what might well be coming.

"Yes, I think" she said "For there is something about thee that I have not known before." I squirmed guiltily

"I'm- I'm from somewhen else."

"Somewhen?" she asked, looking at me quizzically.

"Before I tell you," I said, "You must swear not to repeat what I say to anyone. Not even the Lord Elrond." Silence, but I trusted her, she was, after all, of the elven kind. "I'm from the future." I said, "Far, far in the future... I dunno how I got here." Puzzlement filled her fair face.

"If... if you are from the future," she said, "How do you know about us? How to speak the high elven tongue... and how do you know about Rohan and here... in Rivendell?"

This was going to take a while. "Well, "I said, "About 50 or 60 years before I was born, a man named John Ronald Reuel Tolkein wrote a book called The Lord of the Rings..."

After an hour and a half or so, Adunaciriel seemed mostly to understand what I was getting on about.

"So," she said, "to all but me you shall be Haleth, daughter of Frambar and Théodwyn, shield maiden in training, as it were, and you come from the Westfold in the Riddermark."

"Lovely." I said.

"I shall bring you clothes and you shall dine with us, if it pleases you." pronounced Adunaciriel

"That would be absolutely swish." I grinned at her as she cocked an eyebrow at my use of the word swish "Great, wonderful, fantastic, cool, luvverly, good." I defined for her. She smiled wryly and started to depart

"Wait- Adunaciriel!" I started. She turned,

"Mmm?"

"Erm... I was wondering. Before I break my fast if I could see that one of the little folk as is called Peregrin Took- son of Paladin?"

She suppressed a chuckle "I assure thee, m'lady, young Master Took will be at table." I grinned, where else would he be? Just like Pippin.

She returned after a moment, bearing clothes. They were all dresses and gowns. Now, though I dislike wearing such things on a daily basis, I am not incapable of admiring them, and these were most definitely worthy of admiring. Silks and velvets and brocades, all embroidered with the finest stitching one could imagine in gold and silver thread. The colors were rich and the fabrics soft to the touch. After several minutes of searching, I picked out the one I liked most. It was of luscious dark-green velvet, which set off my red hair nicely, with a golden girdle and absolutely enormous sleeves.

I looked at myself in a mirror of silver and did a double take. That was me? In that dress? I looked... well, I looked beautiful. My thick coppery hair tumbled halfway down my back, framing my porcelain-white face. The cloak at the back trailed behind me and my sleeves brushed the floor, my hands standing out against the dark cloth. My ears... well, perhaps this was just wishful thinking, but my ears seemed slightly pointier. I grinned and turned to the elf. Taking a deep breath, I said "Alright then... let's go."

I was led to the feasting hall where there were only three, rather small people at the high table. Feeling I could be more casual with the hobbits, I sat down and said

"'Ello. Peregrin, Meriadoc, an' Samwise is it not?"

"'S not." Pippin said. "Pippin, Merry, an' Sam, if'n ye please miss. An' ye are...?"

"Whoah!" Merry said, jostling Pippins arm. "Ye fancy 'er then?" Pippin looked scathingly back at Merry

"Pray tell, Master Meriadoc," he said, with mock courtliness "Where did ye ge' such an idea inter yer 'ead?"

"'Miss'?"

"Ah wis bein' polite- may's well. A' least," He said with a wicked grin in my direction, "Till we ge' t'know 'er." I grinned back, liking him immediately- like that was any surprise.

"M'name's Haleth."

"Have a pint?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me. I smirked at him, to buy me a minute to think- I was underage... technically, but what the hell! It's time to party like a hobbit.

"Be much obliged." I said as he slid a tankard down the board to me, the head foaming over the side as I barely caught it. I mopped some of it off the side with my finger and licked it. It didn't taste bad, I was somewhat surprised to find. It was reminiscent of the beer my dad drank (nothing like Guinness, thankfully), but sweetish and a little nutty. I took an appreciative mouthful, licking the froth off my upper lip.

"S'good." I said, turning to Pippin, who was draining the dregs of his ale.

"'Tis, though innit?" He said, hardly slurring his words at all - I noticed there was not only an empty half-pint in front of him, but a pint as well. I could only surmise that hobbits were all but immune to the effects of alcohol until they had had at least a few pints. I shrugged to myself as Pippin continued

"Ye wan' anythin' else? Surely ye don' mean t'get by on a pint alone!" He chuckled- as did I when I realized that such a thing would, in the Shire, be regarded either as hilarious or terrifying.

"Aye." I said, suddenly realizing that I was ravenous. I grabbed a thick slice of bacon and started gnawing on it. Taking another swig of ale, I said,

"So, Peregrin Took, son o' th' Thain, what brings you and yer fine friends to Rivendell?" Pippin blinked at me

"How'd'ye know Ah wis th' Thains son?" I put my fingers to my temples and said

"I am a seer; clairvoyant... I read minds..."

Pippin looked worried, Merry, on the other hand, knowing it for a joke, said,

"I had not heard that those of..."

"Rohan", I supplied.

"... Those of Rohan had that gift".

He glanced at me, grinning, and then shot a look at Pippins face and promptly collapsed in his seat, laughing uncontrollably.

"Mighty Valar! Pip, it was a joke!" I gasped, shaking with mirth. His face brightened considerably, and he once again gave me that characteristic eyebrow waggle, saying

"Oh, Ah knew tha'- Ah wis jes' jokin'... Ye like another pint?" he added, hastily changing the subject.

I grinned wolfishly at him, and he matched my expression to the letter.

"Aye."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Council of Elrond

Disclaimer: Yes, you know wot I'm gonna bloody well say, I don't own LOTR, that honor belongs to Professor Tolkein, may Varda bless him.

The next few weeks in the House of Elrond passed enjoyably. I spent almost all of my time with Merry and Pippin, or with Adunaciriel. Occasionally I went to the hall of fire at night and sang, my rich, deep voice resonating through the rafters and, Frodo said, making a nice change from the light and lyrical voices of the elves.

Hanging out with Merry and Pippin was quite possibly the most fun I have ever had in my life. All three of us were slightly smashed all the time, and we just talked, and did the most ridiculous things, playing tricks (mostly on Sam, as we hardly dared to do them to anyone else), climbing trees and spending a lot of time at the table. I think the rest of the house was quite surprised at my hobbity-ness. I had even taking up wearing what were essentially oversized hobbit clothes, going barefoot as I always did at home (the soles of my feet were almost as tough as an actual hobbits').

After several weeks of this ideal existence, the day of the Council of Elrond finally came. I was invited to attend, being the only representative of Rohan there.

The day of the council was a crisp day, the kind I love, where the sky is a bright, vivid blue, with clouds scudding across it in the lively wind, and simply to breathe is to be refreshed. When the horn sounded for the council, and Adunaciriel came to fetch me, I had Merry and Pippin hide behind pillars, so they could listen in.

I entered into a room which was neither indoors nor outdoors, as so much of Rivendell was. The pillars supporting the roof on the far side were of a sandy rose-hued stone. A circle of shapely chairs were set up. I sat down, feeling slightly nervous and out of place. The nervous feeling subsided slightly when Gandalf came in and sat next to me with a reassuring smile. I sat up straighter. When it appeared that everyone was present, Elrond stood up and addressed us gravely.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been called here so that we may decide what is to be done with the Ring of Power and the threat of Mordor..."

I saw a man I took to be Boromirs eyes light at the mention of the Ring, and he leaned forward, attentive. He soaked up what Elrond and Gandalf told the council of the history of the Ring, and then stood up.

"I left on this errand on account of a dream. I was standing on the walls of Minas Tirith, and I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west a pale light lingered, and a voice spoke, crying 'Seek for the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells. There shall be councils taken, stronger than morgul-spells. There shall be show a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur's bane is woken, and the Halfling forth shall stand. Am I right to believe the ring this Halfling" he gestured toward Frodo "has shown us is indeed the Ring of Power, Isildur's bane?"

"So it would seem." Said Elrond, "But we are not yet decided, let Galdor speak his piece."

He did, and Bilbo and Frodo, and then Gandalf. After he told the council about Saruman, I stood, saying,

"If I have your leave, Master Elrond..." He graciously nodded, so I spoke

"Ere I left my land, I was bidden to ride to Edoras to see if Théoden King had any message I might take to you. I arrived and though I came to the very doors of the Golden Hall of Meduseld, I was not permitted to enter. Instead, one Gríma, son of Galmod, the king's advisor, came and bid me speak to him.

"He had an ill-favored look about him. He was short, and bore no sword. Indeed, he hardly looked capable of it. He was clothed all in black, and had dark, greasy hair and a pale face with heavy-lidded eyes. He did not walk; rather he slunk, as though he had need of secrecy. I asked to see the king, and he denied me, saying that Théoden could not be disturbed. I then drew my sword, for my errand was urgent, and he shrank against the door and gave way.

"The King Théoden, when I saw him, was a decrepit old man, though indeed, he is only in his seventieth year. He did not speak even when I asked if there was no message he would give to the lord of Imladris. Finally Gríma came and whispered in his ear, and he spoke, saying he wanted naught to do with Rivendell or any elves- lathspell, ill news, he said, is all they bear, workers of evil and sorcerers. Bear in mind, m'lord Elrond, those were his very words, not mine.

"I asked Háma, the head of the king's guard of this, and he told me that the king's advisor is known as Wormtongue, and that, save for the king, all shun him. I thought it ill, that this Gríma Wormtongue should have such power over the mind of the king of my land, and thought to ask for your council on this matter."

I bowed and returned to my seat. Gandalf spoke up.

"I too, have heard of this Gríma Wormtongue, and it goes not well with the King Théoden... But that is not our present concern. What to do with the Ring?" When Elrond said nothing, I spoke instead, saying

"Well, if it cannot be used and it cannot be hidden away safe, it must be destroyed. Is there no means? Indeed, Lord Elrond, you make it sound as if it were imperishable."

Then Elrond stood again, and said, very carefully, very deliberately, as if to impress what he was saying upon us,

"It must be thrown into the fiery chasm from whence it came. Orodruin-Mount Doom, in the land of Mordor where was it forged, only there can it be unmade."

An ominous silence fell. The entire council looked awkward, as they shifted, trying to avoid Elrond's gaze. I turned to Frodo, whom I had seen only a few times before, as he was mostly shut up with Bilbo, leaned his head on his hand as if he had a painful headache. It was heart wrenching to see him go through this.

Finally, Boromir spoke up, and everyone turned to him

"Don't you see, this is folly. We cannot send the Ring into Mordor; it would be reclaimed by the Dark Lord without delay. And to cross the Gorgoroth Plains without scathe? Not with ten thousand warriors of Númenór of old could we do this. I tell thee, 'tis madness not to use this Ring! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy; let us use it against him! Gondor wanes, you say, but Gondor stands, and even in the winter of her strength she is still strong. I think it would be well for you to know of Gondor's deeds, so that you may know thy peril should she fall..."

He went on for a while, talking about Gondor, and though I could see the rest of the council cared little for what he said, I could almost see the White City in his eyes; he spoke of it with such pride; I noted that he stood taller, straighter, and more regal.

Talk circled, as the council talked of other deeds that might pertain to the imminent war. Nothing, until Elrond said

"We are but equivocating the matter of the Ring. It must be destroyed. One of you must do this."

I turned back to Frodo, who it seemed, had finally steeled himself for what he felt he must do. He stood up, the rustle of his coat tails breaking the profound silence.

"I will take it." He said "I-I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though... I do not know the way." Everyone turned to him, astonished. Elrond raised those eyebrows again, and said

"If indeed this is your decision, I deem that it is as it should be. Very well, Frodo, son of Drogo, you shall be the Ringbearer. I shall select companions to go with you, and the Nine walkers shall stand against the Nine riders that are evil. There shall be Legolas Thranduilion for the Elves, Gimli son of Gloin for the Dwarves, for Men, there shall Aragorn, and Boromir, son of Defector also, for his way home lies upon that road."

"And me!" Another voice suddenly shouted, and Sam leapt to Frodo's side from where he had been sitting unnoticed just outside the circle of chairs. "Mister Frodo en't goin' nowhere without me!" Elrond smiled at him

"Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Sam suddenly became aware of the thirty-some eyes all resting on him, and blushed furiously and stuck his hands in his pockets.

I stepped forward

"I too will go with the company, at least to my home."

Boromir looked at me oddly "You're naught but a girl!"

"What of it?" I spat, wheeling around to face him, he'd be sorry he'd got me going. "I journeyed hither, did I not, without help, robbed of my weapons. Do you mean to say that I would be but a hindrance to the company?"

He looked ill at ease, and glanced at Elrond, muttering "No. No, milady. It's just... have you any skill with a blade?"

"Some." I answered (truthfully-I had taken lessons) "My father died before he could teach me all he knew. If one here would perhaps school me in more of the art of swordplay, Lord Boromir could judge my fitness to go on the quest." Elrond nodded, and Boromir glanced at me apologetically, though I could see he still doubted my worth

"My apologies, I spoke hastily." I nodded.

Gandalf stood, leaning on his knotty staff. "I shall help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear. I will go with the company, as a guide." Elrond nodded

"For the ninth member of the company, I shell perhaps select one of my own house." Suddenly, there was a cry from behind the pillars

"Oi! What aboot us?"

"Aye, ye can't go'n leave us behind!" Merry and Pippin darted forward

"Anyway," said Pippin, "Ye need someone of intelligence on this kind of mission... quest...thing! We're going, ye'll 'ave to tie us up and send us home in sacks to stop us!" Elrond looked at them incredulously.

"Nay, Master Hobbit. You wish only to go because you cannot imagine the terrible danger."

"No, Lord Elrond." Gandalf said, sanding creakily and unexpectedly supporting the hobbits "It true that they cannot imagine the danger, but then, can any of the rest of us? No, if they could, they would not dare to go, but they would wish that they dared, and be shamed and unhappy. Even if you chose for us an elf lord, such as Glorfindel, he could not open a path to the black land, or bring down the Dark Tower by the power that is in him. No, I think, that in this case, it would be better to trust to their friendship than to great wisdom." Elrond sighed resignedly,

"Perhaps you are right, friend, but it is my judgment that the younger of these two, Peregrin Took, at least should stay behind. I think all may not be well in the Shire, and I thought to send him back to warn them, according to the fashion of his kind."

It took Pippin a moment to register all this, but when he did, he was indignant "Ah'll no' be left behin', Master Elrond, an' if ye try t'make me I'll follow th'company till me feet're worn off!" Elrond furrowed his brow, looking pensive

"Ten companions...? So be it, you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." I looked at Pip and smiled.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three: The Ring goes South

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah- I don't own LotR, However, Pip is still My Preciousss....

A/N: This is set when I am in my 18th year, a freshman in college.

It was the morning the Fellowship was to set out from Rivendell. I stood, somewhat apprehensively, waiting for Frodo to come out.

My pack was full of all manner of useful things Adunaciriel had stowed there. Some hobbit- trousers (knowing my preference), a shirt, a spare belt, provisions (some waybread, salted meat and dried fruit), a rope, a leather sachet of pipe-weed (Merry and Pippin had taught me the art in our long hours of free time), a woolen waistcoat (for the cold weather), a leather water bottle, flint and tinder, and much else.

I fingered the hilt of the sword that had been provided for me. I was constantly doing this, my fascination with weapons of all kinds leading others to find me practicing in my room, dismembering hoards of imaginary orcs. It was a fine weapon, the leaf shaped blade mirror bright and the cutting edge so keen it could barely be seen. The bronze hilt had a curved crosspiece and was wrapped in fine red-dyed leather that fitted well in my grasp.

I blew, vapor forming before my nose in the chill air, as I hitched the pack higher up on my shoulders.

Pippin wandered over aimlessly, muttering

"Wha' c'n possibly be tekkin' him so long?"

Of course, I knew Bilbo was giving him his corselet of mithril rings and Sting, so I shrugged and said,

"Most likely he's with Bilbo- where else could he be? An' Bilbo does tend to ramble."

Pippin giggled, glancing up at me with a grin. Suddenly he stiffened, and started talking in an oddly forced manner.

"Lov'ly day, though innit? Can' wait t'get off, ol' Frodo really shou' cut his conversation short, m'pack's a bit heavy hubbout yours, really, w'll yes, my feet are cold, are you no' wearing any shoes? Odd fer one o' th' Big Folk. I'd imagine your feet are really-"

"Pip, what are you doing?" I interrupted him

"Me?" He asked, grinning madly "Why, why ever do you ask?"

I gave him a cockeyed look

"What do you mean, why ev- oof!" I dropped to the ground as Merry tackled me in the knees with a shout of triumph. Pippin jumped on top of me, yelling.

"Fer the Shire!"

"Go on Pip- get 'er arms!"

"Ouch! Tha' wis me ye idiot!"

"Sorry. Ach! Gerroutofit! Bloody 'ell..."

We tussled enjoyably on the stone of the plaza for several minutes, something which, undoubtedly had never been done before there, until Merry ended up sitting on my knees, and Pippin knelt by my head, wielding a ladle rather threateningly. I held up my hands in defeat

"Alright, alright, you win."

Merry got up and brushed the dust off his clothes while Pippin smiled and sprang up, holding out his hand to help me. I grasped it and then pulled him down beside me. I smirked at him

"Gotcha."

Just as I got up, Frodo and Bilbo came out. I hastily dusted myself off and went to stand with the rest of the company. Elrond drew himself up and said with immense gravity;

"The Company awaits the Ringbearer. There is no oath or bond laid on any of you to go farther than you will. Your only task is to help the Ringbearer as far as you see fit... Frodo?"

Frodo stepped forward nervously, hitching up his pack. I heard whispers behind me

"Go on, Cousin Frodo."

"Shh! Lerrim alone."

"Look 'oo's talkin' Mer."

"Quiet, both o' ya. Let Mr. Frodo get on on 'is own."

He smiled appreciatively at his friends voices and walked through the gate. He paused a moment, looking discomfited

"Left." Gandalf and I whispered simultaneously. I snorted into my sleeve, stifling the laugh that was threatening to burst out. He nodded discreetly and set off down the left-hand way. We crossed a bridge over the River Bruínen, and as I looked over the edge, I spat for good luck.  
We journeyed in the wild for many days, until we came to the land of Hollin. Legolas took a deep breath, for indeed, the air seemed sweeter here.

"I think," said Gandalf "Here we may risk fire. Hollin is a wholesome land, it takes a long time for a country to forget the elves if once they dwelt there."

"Yes." Legolas said wistfully "But that was ages past, for the grass and trees do not remember them, and only the stones lament: 'Deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they built us, but they are gone.' Gone, they sought the Havens long ago." Thinking suddenly, I leapt up from where I had been sitting, trying to blow smoke-rings.

"Fire?!" I cried, "No, Gandalf, on my passage hither, I saw Crebain, or so I thought them to be, circling above Hollin and also to the south, near Isengard. From your news of Saruman at the council, I think perhaps they were spies of his. We should not risk fire."

I knew Caradhras would defeat us either way, for it was essential that Gandalf fall and become the White Rider, but there was no point in Saruman finding anything out if it was avoidable. Gandalf raised his eyebrows

"Crebain? Hmmm, perhaps you are right Lady; we will not light a fire. The possibility of being found out by Saruman seems to me a greater danger than cold feet. What say you?" He asked with a smile. I nodded and thanked him for heeding my advice.

I ambled back to where the hobbits were getting out cooking supplies

"Sorry du-fellas, no fire tonight." It was difficult to remember not to say 'dude'

"What?!" Pippin protested "Ah wis lookin' for'ard t' a nice hot meal."

"Aye," Sam grumbled "Summat hot out o' th'pot. A brace o' conies or some grouse..." he stared regretfully into space, licking his lips "Ah, well. 'Spect Strider an' Gandalf know best, eh?"

"Aye, they do- didn't wanna get found out by Saruman. I'd say it's prob'ly worth it fer that."

"Yeah, 'spect it is..."

Pippin griped, looking morose. The look of self-righteous suffering he wore was too much, I snorted with laughter.

"What?" He asked, lookin offended "'Ere's naught funny 'bout me poor stummick shrivelin' oop fer lack o' proper food."

"Oh, nothin' Pip, nothin'." I grinned at him and sat down. "Now, can you tell me again how you're s'posed to blow these smoke rings?"

When we sat down for a cold and cheerless meal, Gandalf discussed our plans as to which way we would go.

"Our present course holds thus:" said Gandalf, over his pipe, "We shall attempt to cross the Redhorn Pass, and from there, if all goes well we will enter the woods of Lothlorien-"

"Lothlorien!" cried Boromir in dismay. "Gandalf, that forest is evil. A great enchantress lives there, they say, fair and terrible to look upon. Few who venture there come out again, and of those few, none unscathed. 'Tis folly to enter the Golden Wood!"

"You speak of what you know nothing, Boromir, son of the Steward." Said Gandalf irritably, Boromir seemed subdued by the wizard's bristling brows, and so Gandalf continued.

"I say we shall enter Lothlorien and take a short rest. After that, we shall journey down to the Tindrock and then the Emyn Muil. From there, I know not whither we shall go, for after the Emyn Muil lie the Dead Marshes. Boromir, of course, shall depart, with any who wish to go with him, at the Tindrock Isle and make for Minas Tirith."

He broke off and took a pull on his pipe, sending smoke rings dancing off into the sky (indeed, they did dance, and turn colors). Everyone else agreed and later, we all went to bed, save for Legolas, who had first watch.

I lay still; content to stare at the star-filled sky, still amazing to my city eyes. I found all the stars I knew and named them, murmuring into the night

"Sirius, the Dog Star, the Big Dip- I mean the Sickle (to give it its name here in Middle Earth) the... the Swordsman of the Skies, Eärendil, the Evening Star..."

I sighed, breathing in the fresh green scent that lingered in the air of Hollin. I thought of the future, poor old Gandalf. Really, I had quite grown to like the cantankerous old wizard. Though technically, I reminded myself, it's not like he's dying, he's gonna come back. Though I knew it was true, it didn't seem like it.

A voice interrupted my reverie,

"Can' ye no' sleep either?"

It was Pippin. He had crawled over, still wrapped in his blanket, from where he had been lying nearby.

"Wha?!" I started "Oh, Pip. Nah... dunno why- you?" He shrugged, though he looked troubled,

"Ah... i's jus'... w'll, i' seems soo far from home, y'know. An' Ah've been thinkin' aboot th' Green Dragon, and the Great Smials doon in the Tookland, and Brandy Hall, where Merry lives, an' Bag End, an' poor ol' Frodo..."

He trailed off, looking at the ground

"Wha's gonna happen t' us? Me'n Merry came along cuz we felt we had to, an' Ah still do, but... wha' can we do? Everythin's soo big, an' Ah dunno where we are, an' wha' use am I, after all?"

He looked at me dejectedly, starlight reflected in his green eyes, now uncommonly melancholy. I smiled Just wait, if you feel like that now, just wait, but I cupped his chin in my hand and said

"Pippin... you're more use than you know. After all, Gandalf wanted you here, and if I remember aright, he once said that he does not bring things that are of no use. We love ya, mate."

I do, though. I thought, And I thought Billy Boyd was good looking as Pippin- the real thing's much better. He smiled remorsefully

"Ah, but Ah'd love a good pint... they doon' brew 'em anywhere like a' th' Green Dragon."

I grinned,

"No place like 'ome, eh?" Even though I felt that, no, I'd much rather be here, a sudden fit of homesickness swept over me. My friends... how I missed them. How long was I going to be here anyway, what if I never got back?

"I miss my 'ome too."

He looked at me, and I saw the pure, unadulterated innocence shining in his eyes. There was no cynicism or mocking there, as there would have been from any of the guys I knew at home. He smiled

"Whell then, we c'n be 'omesick together, I s'pose."

I smiled, and this time I meant it.

"Thanks Pip."


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four: The Journey to the Mountains

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings sob. Or Pippin sob. I do however own myself.

Author's Note: The course of the story is directly from neither movie nor book. It mostly follows the book, but the dialogue, etc. is not exactly the same, as this is the 'real' thing, and of course, a translation (the book) can never be accurate on all counts.

After my little conversation with Pippin the night before, I had dreamt odd dreams, tossing fitfully, until I woke with a start and an aching ear. Merry crouched above me grinning wickedly, tugging mercilessly at my ear. I swatted him away irritably; I was never a morning person. I moaned as I stumbled up, rubbing at my back where a tree root had been digging into it,

"Wha's fer breakfas'?" I mumbled, looking at Pippin, knowing full likely Aragorn or Gimli would have looked askance at such a question.

"Wha's usually fer breakfast? Have some o' yer rations."

I grimaced, and turned toward Aragorn.

"Whither today, lord? The Redhorn Pass?" He glanced at me

"The lord is hardly necessary, Haleth. But yes, I believe we are headed for the mountain."

He sighed, and I knew he was hoping Caradhras would not prove as cruel as the tales tell. Unfortunately, it would. I flopped down beside him,

"What troubles you?" He looked surprised for a moment that I should ask

"Ah, mellonin." He heaved a sigh. "I fear the mountain road may prove too perilous. In which case, there would be no other way but..."

He glanced at me sidelong, as if judging whether he dared tell me.

"Moria."

"Moria!?" I gasped, part of this was simply good acting, but some was real fear. Now that I was actually here, well- those masses of orcs were entirely too real. "Is it not infested with orcs? Do you think Balin's folk managed to drive them out?"

"I don't know, I would hope so, but it seems not unlikely that all Balin's folk are dead or slain and the mines once more overrun."

He trailed off and stared at his feet.

"Aragorn, 'ere's no sense in worrying ourselves about what may be, better to concentrate on what is." He looked at me with the beginnings of a smile hovering around his lips,

"You are wise for one so young, perhaps you're right." He got up and arched his back,

"Well, will you breakfast with the rest of us for a change m'lady?" I grinned,

"Hey, hey- if I'm not t'call you lord, you've got to drop the lady."

"Make me." He smirked and dashed off. I sat back, laughing like anything. Aragorn acting like Merry, Pippin, or myself was just too much.

The company set out that morning with a heavy hearts; none were looking forward to the mountain pass. As we walked, I started singing to myself. The song was "Into the West", the credits song from Return of the King. I loved that song with a passion. I had sung it sophomore year for the talent show.

_Lay down _

_Your sweet and weary head _

_Night is falling,_

_You have come to journey's end _

_Sleep now_

_And dream of the ones who came before _

_They are calling _

_From across a distant shore  
  
Why do you weep? _

_What are these tears upon your face? _

_Soon you will see _

_All of your fears will pass away  
  
Safe in my arms _

_You're only sleeping.  
  
What can you see _

_on the horizon? _

_Why do the white gulls call?  
  
Across the sea _

_A pale moon rises _

_The ships have come to carry you home  
  
And all will turn to silver glass._

_A light on the water_

_All souls pass.  
  
Hope fades _

_Into the world of night_

_Through shadows falling _

_Out of memory and time _

_Don't say we have come now to the end _

_White shores are calling _

_You and I will meet again  
  
And you'll be here in my arms _

_Just sleeping  
  
What can you see_

_On the horizon? _

_Why do the white gulls call?  
  
Across the sea _

_A pale moon rises _

_The ships have come to carry you home  
  
And all will turn to silver glass _

_A light on the water _

_Grey Ships pass into the West_.  
  
As the song ended, I realized that everyone had been listening. Legolas' deep peat-brown eyes turned on me, and they were filled with wonderment.

"Where did you learn that? I have not heard it before." I shrugged.

"My parents were elf-friends, I learnt it from them."

"'Tis fair... and sad... I almost wonder how it comes that mortals capture the feeling better than we, the Firstborn. 'Tis beautiful. You do it justice."

I flushed with embarrassment, and fidgeted with my ring, a replica of the One, which ordinarily hung about my neck. Of course, as a member of the Fellowship, I could hardly wear an imitation of the Ruling Ring openly, and so, I kept it in a leather pouch, which hung from my belt.

We walked on, the shadow of the Misty Mountains looming nearer and nearer on the horizon. I walked along unconcernedly, for it was a gorgeous day, counting my steps in a marching rhythm: left, left, left, right, left. Left, left, left, right, left. Suddenly a voice behind me startled me out of the trance-like state I was in.

"Milady."

It was Boromir. For the first time since I joined the Fellowship, I got a good look at him. He was tall, over six feet, with a sharp nose and dark, flashing eyes. His sandy auburn hair, plainly inherited from his mother, hung lank about his shoulders. He had a sharp jaw-line, graced by stubble, a strong man, and one always ready to give his opinion.

His sword hung at his side. The large pommel was wrought in an effigy of Minas Tirith, a reminder of his fierce loyalty and love towards the city. It was a long sword, and broad, a big sword for a big man. His clothes, though travel- stained, were fine- obviously the best Minas Tirith had to offer.

"Who? Oh, Boromir, you startled me." He inclined his head slightly

"My apologies, I wished to speak with you." I raised my eyebrows and motioned for him to continue,

"What about?"

"Oh, nothing." He said, "I was in need of someone to talk to, it gets lonely, trudging along at the back of the group."

"I know what you mean." I said with a wry smile.

Boromir was about to continue when he was interrupted by a shout from near the front of the group.

"We are here." That was Gandalf. Gimli stood by Legolas, an expression of awe on his face as he gazed upon the mountains, which of old were the home of Khazad-dûm, the greatest of all realms of his people.

"There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and we have wrought the image of these mountains into many works of metal and stone, and into many songs and tales. They stand tall in our dreams: Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr. Only once before have I seen them in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, which is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue. Yonder stands Barazinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White and Fanuithol the Grey, that we call Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr. There the Misty Mountains divide, and between their arms lies the deep-shadowed valley which we cannot forget: Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale, which the Elves call Nanduhirion."

The hobbits stared at Gimli, as this was the most he had ever said even from the time he arrived at Rivendell. I had forgotten about this particular little speech, and I shook my head, the use of so many words in Khuzdûl having given me a headache.

Sam shook his head, eyes wide,

"A fair jaw-cracker dwarf-language must be..."

"Yes," Said Gandalf, "It is for the Dimrill Dale that we are making. If we climb the pass that is called the Redhorn Gate, under the far side of Caradhras, as I've said before, we shall come down by the Dimrill Stair into the deep valley of the dwarves."

Boromir started to continue, but was cut off once again by Gimli,

"Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla. My heart trembles at the thought that I may see them soon." Gandalf smiled at him, perhaps the only member of the Fellowship unfazed by the long string of names Gimli had rattled off,

"May you have joy at the sight, my good dwarf."

I looked at Pippin, whose brows were still knitted in confusion at Gimli's long rant.

"Khazad... summat? Umm.. wotsit called? Erm..." He turned to me, "Did you understan' a word of tha'?" I smiled

'let's see if I can remember all these...'

"Ok, Pip, the first three he named, umm, Barazinbar, Zirakzigil, and... and... dammit... and Bundushathûr, they're mountains. The Dimrill Dale, Az... Azanulbizar, that's the valley on the other side of the mountains. Got that?" He nodded. "Ok. Kheled-zâram, that's the Mirrormere, a pool in the valley, and Kibil-nâla is the springs that are the beginning of the River Silverlode. Khazad-dûm is the Khuzdûl name for the Mines of Moria, savvy?"

'Finally, finally I can say 'savvy' without someone accusing me of imitating Jack Sparrow!'

"Thanks." Pippin said, and grinned.

"And I'm sure that now ye know all of 'em by 'eart, right?"

He gave me a look of injured dignity.

"Of course. Pray, fair lady, do you think I look like a fool?"

I smirked evilly

"Yup."

Merry came over to Boromir, who, I realized, was still standing next to me, ill at ease.

"'Ey, Boromir?"

He smiled; he had a soft spot for the hobbits.

"Yes Master Brandybuck?"

"C'dja tech me an' Pip a bit more 'bout swordfighting?"

"Surely."

I nudged Pippin

"Cummon, we can't leave poor Boromir alone with that vicious cousin o' yers- 's go."


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five: The Redhorn Pass

Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings, I would never presume to claim such a thing...

A/N: This chapter took me ages t' bloody write, so I expect some reviews!

I stood at the foot of the mountains for a while, overawed bye their immensity. The caps were hidden by cloud, and could not be guessed.

When I turned back to the group, Gandalf was talking. I couldn't hear what he was saying so I moved closer. I heard

"Watched... weather... coming up behind... snow... two marches before..." then, as I finally came within normal hearing range, "Dark shall come early this evening. We must leave as soon and you can get ready."

When it appeared he was done, Boromir spoke up.

"I will add a word of advice, if I may. I was born under the shadow of these mountains and know something about journeys in the high places. We shall meet bitter cold, and snow, if no worse, before we come down. It will not help to keep so secret we are frozen to death. When we leave here where there are still a few trees, each of us ought to bring a faggot of wood, as large as he can-"

"_Ahem_."

Boromir swiveled around.

"Oh Boromir..." this was said in my most honeyed of tones. "May I remind you that some of us are not, in fact, men." Merry snorted, and Frodo smiled wanly. I grinned in the Man's direction.

"_Ahem_. As large as they can bear."

I inclined my head slightly in his direction, clasping my palms in the attitude of a monk.

"And Bill c'n take a bit more, couldn't ye, lad?" I grinned at the melancholy look that seemed to pass over the pony's face.

"Very well," said Gandalf, sounding irritable, though his eyes twinkled with silent mirth, "But- and pay heed to me- we must not use the wood, not unless it is a choice between fire and death."

For the first day of our trek up to the Redhorn Gate, if you can believe it, I was enjoying myself. I had never seen mountains so majestic and fantastically tall. The cold air was refreshing on my face, and the snow that dusted the rock on either side of path did not lower my spirits, as it did the others, quite the contrary, in fact. However, as we started out our second say, things began to look down.

A chill northerly wind blew, cutting through cloth and skin, too. It seemed to bite at the bones. The high sun was covered up with glowering clouds, and snow began to fall heavily.

I felt sorry for the hobbits, most of whom had never seen a real snowfall. I was used to it, and though I was chilly, I didn't feel the need to wrap up in my cloak, or clutch my arms to my chest.

My calves had been aching from all the trudging through snow that now went up to my knees; now, I couldn't feel them at all. The snow was up to my waist now, and my thighs retained feeling, but this seemed almost only so I could tell how much they ached.

I huddled down inside my woolen jacket, trying to remember the time when I got lost outside in -40 degree cold with nothing but a jacket. This was nothing, I told myself, compared with that.

I turned to Pippin, to try and distract myself with light conversation, but it was obvious that he was not up to light conversation.

His face was white- as white as the snow he was half buried in and his hair and freckles stood out painfully against it. His eyes were screwed up against the cold, and he shivered uncontrollably, his teeth chattering. He rubbed his arms together frantically, looking at me.

"Ah-Ah-Ah. Ah c-cannae feel me- me arms-s-s."

I nodded, and turned away from him, to whoever was in front of me. It was difficult to tell, through the whirling snow, but I thought it was Boromir.

"Oy! Boromir!" I yelled, using all my considerable lung power "We have to stop!! We! Have! To! Stop! Lookit the Hobbits!"

When he understood, and examined Merry and Pippin, who were in the worst state- Frodo was up front with Gandalf- he nodded, and plowed forward, bulling his way through the snow until he reached the Wizard.

I continued forward blindly, until Boromir came back.

"Haleth! The Halflings! We must carry them! Can you take Pippin?!"

"Sure!" I bellowed back.

We had halted for a moment, and I saw Boromir pick up Merry and put Sam on Bill's (The pony) back. Pippin, when I picked him up, was sleepy with cold.

"Ah c'n walk... pu' me doon..." he struggled feebly, and I could tell he knew he was in no state to walk any further.

"You shuttup Pip. Ye know yer in no fit state ta walk a... a... I dunno, but yer not."

"Urff!" I grunted as I hoisted his weight up. My legs almost buckled, but I managed to stay upright. Pippin was a relatively slim hobbit- that was fortunate. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. His breath misted my chin, and I swallowed hard.

We continued until I almost forgot I had and armful of unconscious hobbit, I was numb and freezing and exhausted. For hours it seemed, we slogged through the ever-mounting snowdrifts, until Gandalf called a halt.

"We'll rest here for the night- it would appear that we need to recover our strength."

I caught the irony in his voice on the last remark, and saw that he himself was sagging, leaning heavily on his staff. I rubbed my clasped hands on my jacket, trying to unfreeze them so I could let go of Pippin. He woke abruptly when I dropped him on the ground.

"Oops- sorry 'bout that."

He shivered and tried vainly to move his fingers and toes.

"Here."

I bent down and started massaging his hands and feet- they were as cold as ice. As the circulation gradually returned to the hobbit's extremities, he gasped with pain.

"Ye alright now?"

"Better." He replied with a smile, that, even for him was more like a grimace.

"Right- I'm gonna take care of the others."

I went over to Merry and did the same thing, instructing Boromir to help Sam.

When everyone was in reasonably better shape, the question of fire was raised. What to do? We were all as cold as any of us (save Gandalf, but he really didn't count) could remember, and surely if we fell asleep without a fire we would simply freeze in our sleep and die, or be covered by drifts and suffocate, and then die. Either way, the prospects didn't look good, but what if we needed the wood more later?

"Come Gandalf," said Boromir, who was sharing his fur lined cloak with poor Pippin, the worst off of any of us. "Surely now the choice is between fire and death."

I could tell the rest of the Fellowship agreed with him, but none spoke.

Gandalf looked at Pippin, and his face, for once, was easy to read: he felt awful. He could see the hobbits could not last much longer, but his wariness of being caught was fighting a valiant fight. Suddenly he relented.

"You may make a fire, if you can. If there are any watchers that can endure this storm, than they may see us, fire or no."

As it turned out, no one could strike a flame in the wet and frozen wood, not even Gimli, Dwarf though he was. Finally Gandalf took a hand.

"Come- hand me a log, here."

He took the faggot Aragorn handed him and held it aloft.

"_Naur an edraith amen_!"

The log erupted in a great gout of red-golden flame which even the howling wind did not extinguish.

"Well, if any are here to see, I have written _Gandalf is here_ in signs all can read from Rivendell to the mouths of Anduin."

He placed it on the pile of wood, and Gimli immediately started feeding the fire with bits of kindling he had in his pack.

We all sat around the fire, and never before in my life had I been so grateful for it. The pure, raw heat in that freezing place, high among the ice and rocks of the mountains was more glorious than... well, I don't know what but it was fantastic. The snow melted and puddled into slush around our feet.

"Here." That was Gandalf, "Pass this 'round. Just a mouthful each, mind you. It is miruvor, the cordial of Rivendell, and it is very precious."

He held a leather flask with bright silver and copper scrollwork around the top and bottom, he handed it to Aragorn, who took the smallest of sips. When it finally came to me, I took a mouthful. I felt a warmth spreading through me, from my throat, down to my frozen legs. I suddenly felt a renewed vigor and hope also, it seemed, burgeoning in my heart. The weariness that had been oppressing me lifted a little, and I smiled, and passed the flask to Pippin, sitting beside me.

Now I was slightly more awake, I looked around. Gandalf sat, looking pensive; Aragorn's stern countenance had little changed, as was his wont, though, I thought, it looked a little more relaxed. Sam was huddled next to Bill the pony, sharing the beast's warmth. Gimli was intent on the fire, his darkling eyes reflecting the flames. Legolas sat upright and aloof, but the hint of a smile hovered round his lips. Boromir was wrapped in his cloak, eyes glazed, seeming to see more than the rest of us could. Merry and Pippin sat next to each other, alternately gasping and grinning from the heat, and mercilessly joshing each other for it. Frodo sat by Sam. He seemed to have drawn into himself, his knees to his chest. And, as if I had only just noticed it, the Ring hung around his neck.

The band was thick, the gold brighter than even the fire, the cold metal reflecting the flames. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it.

Now- usually I didn't think jewelry was all that beautiful, when people in stores gasped over priceless gold and jewels, I would rather be outside, looking at the intricacies of the veins in a leaf, or the funny habits of a sparrow. Now, however, I took back anything adverse I had ever said regarding such things. This Ring was... gorgeous, entrancing, beautiful, I would have traded anything I owned for that Ring.

Now, somewhere in me, I knew this was a bad sign; this was the One Ring, Sauron's Ring, the Ruling Ring. I knew it was evil, if I took it, surely I would become a grasping wretch like Gollum, perhaps even worse- I might inflict real harm on the world, but still...

As I thought this, another thought countered. Yes, but I could get rid of that idiot, conservative excuse for a president. I could demolish all the big cities in the world, and the oil rigs; the forests and trees would flourish, I could fix the ozone layer, maybe. And, maybe... maybe I could make _him_ like me- I could make him love me. I could make myself pretty. Think of what I could do. I could make all the republicans and communists see what they were doing, I could get rid of war.

I sat, staring at the Ring hanging on its chain around the Halflings neck. Only semi-conscious of what I was doing, I reached out a trembling hand, as if to seize it.

Suddenly I felt a tugging on my sleeve and I snapped out of my reverie. Pippin was looking at me with inquisitive eyes. I noticed that the firelight made the vivid green of his eyes look as if it was on fire.

"Wot ye doin'?"

"Eh..."

He waggled his eyebrows at me, as if to say "I gotcha."

"I was... warmin' me 'ands by th' fire. Wot'd ye think I was doin'?"

Pippin glanced meaningfully at Frodo, I was surprised. Clearly he was more intelligent than he made himself out to be.

He leaned close, hot breath wet in my ear

"Ye'll wan' te try not te no'ice tha'."

Of course. I blushed, what must he think of me now? My eyes suddenly stung with tears and my throat caught. I looked down, concentrating on the weave of my trousers to distract myself.

"Sorry." I mumbled. I must have sounded like a child apologizing to her parents, now I felt like an even bigger fool.

Pip grinned, he knew how I felt, I'm sure.

"Firs' time Ah saw't Ah did th' same thing."

I glanced at him, surprised. Pippin? Innocent Pippin? What, I wonder, had he thought to do with it.

"Th's no shame. 's nobody as c'n 'elp it."

And then, to my utter and lasting shock and delight, he leaned a little closer, and brushed my cheekbone with a kiss.

I gasped slightly, then stifled it, lest anybody else notice.

Pippin was looking at me in a surprised fashion, as if his body had acted without telling his mind. But when I smiled, warm now, and no longer with embarrassment, he grinned, his grass-green eyes shining at me.

A/N: reviews, pleeeez! I'm glad I finally got in Pip's and my moment, and my little bout of Ring-sickness, for lack of a better term. Eagle Took- be glad- next chapter you get to see if I prove my mettle against the hoardes of Moria. ::dum dum dum::


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six: At the West Gate

Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I know. In fact, I am all too aware of the fact that I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any associated characters

A/N: I know it's a crappy-ass title but hey, that's the way it goes

_Damn Caradhras. Dammit, dammit, dammit. _We were crouched around a meagre fire near the base of the mountain. If you had asked me a week ago what I had thought if we had been defeated by the mountain, I would have said, well, it was a waste of time, but ya know, it's necessary, so Gandalf can fall... Screw that! Now, as we huddled around the dully burning branches, I was as irritated and afraid as if I had had no idea going over the mountains wouldn't work.

I was cold, I was wet, and I didn't want to go to Moria.

"Now what?"

I had to say something, the silence had been grating on my fragile nerves.

"Let us take council, so that we may decide what to do next," Gandalf looked at me with dancing eyes, "as Haleth seems eager to be decided."

I growled ever so slightly, but subsided as Legolas looked at me, his piercing Elven eyes seeing through my mask to the fear beneath.

"We cannot, of course, go on further tonight; we must rest here, and continue on the morrow."

"But where then are we to go?"

That was Frodo- poor Frodo. He looked tired and drawn, a desperation showed in his eyes. It was clear he thought the Quest had failed.

"It seems to me we have no choice but to go on, or to return to Rivendell."

Sam's face brightened visibly at the mere mention of Rivendell, Merry and Pippin looked up hopefully. Gimli, Legolas, and the two Men were as stoic as ever. Frodo looked troubled.

"I wish I were back there..." he sighed, staring up at the rich velvet sky "But how shall I return without shame, unless there truly is no other way?"

"There is another way." At this Gandalf hesitated "But it is not a, uh, pleasant way. I have not spoken of it to the company before, as Aragorn was against it."

"Well, cummon," said Merry, "It must be 'orrible indeed if it's worse than th' Redhorn Gate, but get on with it, let us know what we're up against."

"The road I speak of leads to the Mines of Moria."

Everyone tensed slightly, even the hobbits had heard of the terrors that supposedly dwelt deep in the disused mine.

Gimli, on the other hand, raised his head, a smoldering fire in his deep-set eyes.

"Aye." said Aragorn "The road may lead to Moria, but who can be sure if it will lead _through_ Moria."

"Moria," muttered Boromir, as if tasting the word "it is a name of ill omen, Gandalf. Aragorn is right. It would be better to journey southwards to the land of Rohan. From there we may take the road I took on my way hither."

"Nay, Boromir- things have changed since you came north. Then you were but one wanderer from the south. Now you are part of the Company of the Ring, surely you do not think we would escape Saruman's notice."

Boromir sighed deeply and looked at me. I shrugged.

"Also," continued the Wizard "there is even a chance that Dwarves are there, and that somewhere deep in the forgotten halls of his fathers, Balin, son of Fundin may be found. It is a dark road, yes, but one must tread the path that need chooses."

Finally Gimli spoke up, his darkling eyes glittering avidly. His gruff voice trembled with fervor.

"I will tread the path with you, Gandalf. I would go and look upon the halls of Durin, whatever waits there."

"You encourage me Gimli- now, a vote. Aragorn, what say you?"

"I once passed the Dimrill Gate- I wish not to do so again."

"Ah doon't wish te even once." said Pippin

"Nor me- It sounds like an' 'orrible darksome place an' all."

"I second Sam." Merry piped up. "Though I s'pose we might 'ave to in the end."

"Of course you don't want to," said Gandalf. "The question is, who will follow me if I lead you there?"

"I will." Gimli said, nodding vigorously

I sighed with resignation, though my curiosity was aroused

"Yeah," I said, "I will. Gandalf's right- one must tread the path that need chooses."

"I will." Said Aragorn heavily, "You followed me almost to disaster in the snow, and have said naught. I will follow you if you do not heed this last warning: if you pass the Doors of Moria, beware. And it is not us, nor of the Ring, but you I am thinking of, Gandalf."

"I will not go!" Boromir put in resolutely, "not unless the vote of the entire company is against me! The name of Moria is black."

"I-" Legolas began, but cut himself off. He raised his head as if listening to something. He shuddered. "Listen- how the wind howls."

Aragorn cocked and ear, and look of concentration on his face. Suddenly a look of alarm passed over his face.

"How the wind howls? It is howling with wolf-voices! The Wargs have come"

Gandalf looked out into the darkness and cursed under his breath.

"Is now our course not decided for us? Let us go- it is some fifteen miles to Moria as the crow flies, and maybe twenty as the wolf runs. Come!"

We ran. I was lucky I was in better shape from all my training- not to mention all the walking we had done, so we ran, until we reached a hill capped by the broken and crumbled ruins of an old tower.

I could hear the distant yips and howls of the advancing pack, and I shivered and huddled close to the fire. I was glad Gandalf had allowed us this, but when it came to it- there was no need to stay out of sight when the pursuit could follow our scent clear up to the hill.

As I sat, my back to the fire, log in one hand, sword in the other, I realized for the first time, that I would have to kill these animals. Now- I had come face to face with wolves before, and I admired them profoundly for their wild, savage beauty. I had been, on occasion, less than ten feet away from an untamed wolf. I had been startled, but not particularly afraid. After all, wolves were intelligent, social animals, who wouldn't attack without reason. Now, I was not surprised, but I was deadly afraid.

They were upon us, yellow eyes and sabre-sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. The circled us, appearing to confer among themselves. I saw the foremost wolf, perhaps the leader, growl low in his throat, nod almost imperceptibly, and leap, snarling.

There was suddenly a twanging noise and the wolf fell dead, throat pierced by an Elven arrow. The pack broke out in a thunderous baying and howling, and then charged.

In the sudden noise and confusion, I was instantly terrified. A blind fear rose in my mind and I was knocked to the ground. I seemed to be aware that I was yelling hoarsely and flailing about with my sword as if it were a stick, and not the elegant weapon it was. I looked up to find a great brindled she-wolf leaping at me, and without thinking, plunged my sword out into her breast as she jumped.

The body landed on top of me, the metallic reek of blood thick in my nostrils. I shoved the limp carcass off me and stood up, my head clearer. My sword dripped red. As I slashed at a wolf running past me, a noise reached my ears. It was a scream; a distinctly young and Scottish sounding scream.

Suddenly I was plowing into the mass of animals before me, slashing and hacking madly. A red mist had taken my vision, and I bulled forward, screaming Pippin's name wildly. They would not have him, I would not allow it. They would all perish by my blade before they hurt him.

Now I was back to back with Merry and Pippin, our blades flashing liquid crimson from the fire and the blood of the wolves.

"Get back! Get away from the trees!" Gandalf was shouting; he stooped, and then, hurling a flaming brand aloft, cried "_Naur an edraith amen! Naur dan I ngaurhoth!_"

There was a deafening roar, and all the trees burst into flame. The Wargs fled, whining and cringing, leaving the camp startlingly quiet save for the pop and crackle of the burning trees. The effect was very anticlimactic. We had routed the enemy, and now we stood, gasping slightly, all silent, in the flickering light of the flame.

I shook my head, trying to ward off dizziness. When I realized what was happening, I cursed myself. A feverish sweat broke out on my forehead, and my clothes felt suddenly constricting. My vision was growing fuzzy, my hearing dim. I seemed detached from myself, only partly aware of the sick feeling in my stomach and throat. This was what happened whenever I was witness to slaughter, to bloody violence. Even if I was only watching a movie, if it was humans fighting each other, I would get like this. I blinked and sat down, my head between my knees, waiting for the feeling to subside. When my head cleared and I realized I could hear the crackling flames clearly, I rose and went over to the rest of the company.

Aragorn stopped me as I made to sit down.

"Haleth. You're injured."

"What? I am?"

I hadn't noticed, but then, I wouldn't have through the blind bloodlust that had taken me. I looked down at myself, searching for a wound. As I was looking, Aragorn lightly touched my shoulder. I gasped with pain, hot tears coming to my eyes. My sleeve was torn and bloodied. When Aragorn gently cleared the fabric away, I could see that there were a set of gashes there half an inch deep, in some places deeper. They gleamed an angry, raw red in the firelight. I could feel something warm trickling down my arm.

"Well," I asked, my voice oddly matter-of-fact, "they're not bad, are they?"

I was surprised, in part, at how little I cared. I had never cared about seeing my own blood, and it seemed this was a good thing now.

I sat next to Sam, Boromir, Merry, and Frodo, all of whom were also in need of patching up. When it came my turn, Aragorn applied a poultice of Athelas to my arm. At the touch of it, the most wonderful cool feeling spread throughout my body. The pain lessened to a dull ache, and the remains of my headache went away. I shook my head and stood up, thanking Aragorn.

We rested until the sun rose, and then set out again.

_Moria. _ The word rolled off the tongue. It had a sinister quality to it, an eerie beauty. As I stood before the Walls where the West Gate of the mines stood, I reflected that the mines themselves were much the same. The bleak gray stone rose up into the mist, black bands perforating the monochromatic shade of the rocks.

I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. Another curious development. I had never before had curly hair. My hair was always luscious and thick, with a subtle wave, but never curly. Now, however, the ends seemed to be forming little ringlets, and wayward auburn curls were constantly straying onto my forehead. Oh well. I shook my head, sending the ringlets bouncing.

Suddenly I realized the company was moving, and I was lagging behind.

"Oops."

I hurried to catch up.

It was a bleak day, and nearing nightfall. The still lake, stagnant and murky, hovered on the edge of my vision, no matter how pointedly I tried to ignore it. Some part of my mind was curious as to how the Watcher would look. Would it be like in the movie, or would it simply be like a giant octopus or cuttlefish? The other part of my mind insisted that I would rather not find out.

I patted Bill the Pony's flank, murmuring to him absentmindedly, listening to the bickering of Legolas and Gimli before halting suddenly.

I gasped, staring openmouthed at the immense holly tree I had nearly run into. The huge gnarled roots went all the way down into the stagnant mere that was the lake, the boughs stretching high to the heavens, the crimson berries glistening like beads of blood. About three metres across, there was another massive tree, but my attention was not on the trees now, it was on what lay between them. A blank stretch of gray stone, smooth as cream and flat as a tabletop, stretched up into the mist.

"This," Gandalf announced definitively "Was the West-Gate of Moria."

"May'ap, but where's th' door? I don't see it."

Gimli looked across at Merry

"Dwarf doors are not made to be seen when closed, young Master Meriadoc. They are invisible, and their own masters cannot find them if their secret is forgotten."

Gandalf wrinkled his brow.

"But these doors were not made to be a secret... and unless things have altogether changed, eyes that know what to look for may discover them."

He strode forward, and pressed his ear against the bare stone. His fingers explored it, brushing lightly against the stone. He nodded then, and muttering words under his breath, he passed his hands to and fro, now with more purpose. Then he stepped back

"Now can you see anything?"

I glanced up at the moon, at second quarter now, bright in the night sky, then looked back at the doors as I heard a gasp from Pippin standing next to me.

I started, for though I had been prepared, the sight of shining silver lines tracing themselves through the previously unmarked stone was so strange, and so beautiful I couldn't hold it back.

There, glimmering in the light of the Moon, was the design I was so familiar with- the very one I had painted on my door at home. An arch, with curling scrollwork and designs, the pillars, with the branches of two trees winding round them, the Tengwar lettering, the hammer and anvil, the crown and the seven stars, and, in the middle, that many rayed star, shining more brightly than all the rest.

"There are the emblems of Durin!" cried Gimli avidly

"And," said Legolas, "the Trees of the High Elves!"

"Yes," interrupted Gandalf, "And the Star of the House of Fëanor."

The Star of the House of Fëanor... it was crazy, I thought; it was absolutely insane- I was looking at the West Gate of the bloody Mines of Moria. I shook my head as Gandalf continued.

"They are wrought of _ìthildin_ that mirrors only starlight and moonlight, and is awoken only by one who speaks words now long forgotten in Middle Earth. It is long since I heard them and I had to search deep before I could recall them to my mind."

Frodo was looking at the doors as one might look at a particularly hard jigsaw puzzle, brow furrowed in concentration, biting his lip. Finally he turned to Gandalf

"What does it say? I thought I knew the elf letters, but I can make neither head nor tail of these."

"_Ennyn Durin Atan Moria: pedo mellon a minno_- The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria: speak friend and enter."

The Company turned to stare at me; I blushed slightly, but continued

"And below, very small, is written: _Im, Narvi, hain echant: Celebrimbor o Eregion I thiw hin_- I, Narvi, made them: Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."

"You know the ancient language?" asked Frodo.

"Emm... a little."

Boromir, standing in the rear, was looking at me curiously, it was plain he had thought me uneducated. Granted, he had good reason. After all, how many people of Rohan knew Elvish? Maybe it had been unwise to reveal my knowledge. Gandalf too, was looking at me inquiringly. His clear blue eyes glittered under his beetling brows.

"I think," began the wizard "there is more than meets the eye to our good friend Haleth."

He raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged

"May'ap. That r'mains t'be seen, dunnit? Any'ow- seems t'me we should be figgerin' more on getting' the Doors open then on me."

"Ah, yes." Gandalf turned to the Doors and braced his staff upon the Star in the middle and spoke in commanding tones.

"_Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen! Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!_"

When nothing happened, Pippin spoke up, undaunted by Gandalf's bristling brows

"What're ye gonna do now?"

"Knock on the Doors with your head, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am left a little peace and quiet, I shall seek for the opening words."

"Weel fine then... shatt'r the doors wit' me 'ead..." Pippin was sulking.

"Shh Pip. Ye know he dun't mean it."

I lightly kissed the top of his head, in the center, where his sandy auburn curls sprang from. He blushed and fell silent. I grinned.

We sat then, watching poor Sam crying as he unladed Bill the Pony's packs, watching Aragorn set him loose, with words of blessing for the road, watching Gandalf try, without success, to open the doors, until, absentmindedly staring at the lake, I suddenly remembered something. The Watcher- I could prevent that attack; I could help.

"Shite."

I sprang up and hurriedly made my way over to Gandalf. He looked up at me crossly when I came over.

"If you're going to pester me with more foolish questions, you can go away now and not trouble yourself."

"No- Gandalf. _Pedo, _what's it mean?"

"You told the company yourself, didn't you? Or have you forgotten. It means 'speak'."

I shook my head frantically, glancing nervously over my shoulder at the lake, mercilessly still- for now.

"No: _pedo mellon a minno- _say friend and enter. 'Say', not 'speak'."

Gandalf nodded slowly, standing up, taking, it seemed to me, all the time in the world.

"Please, we must hurry. 'S place bodes ill with me; I don' trust th' lake."

The old man shrugged

"Very well. I see no reason not to hurry."

And with that, he faced the doors and spoke.

"_Mellon!_"

There was a great noise and a hairline crack appeared in the middle of the door, which then, ponderously, swung out, rumbling and moaning. The Gateway into Khazad-Dûm was open.

A/N: Sorry, Eagle Took, you didn't get to see Haleth fighting orcs, but you got Wargs, so be satisfied. Anyhoo, writing develops in its own right, and if the story didn't want orcs just yet, ya gotta respect that, ya dig me?


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: A Journey in the Dark

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't own LotR, or any related characters, etc. I do however, own Haleth. And Pippin- just ask him. ::kisses Pippin, who blushes and waves to readers:: Pip: 'Lo!

A/N: Finally. It's a miracle!!! Yes, I have finally updated. Exceedingly sorry about the delay, but life happens, ya know? I give Watcher in the Water plushies to reviewers!

The gaping hole in the wall opened onto a stale-smelling blackness. Rock dust floated in the still air. In the light of the moon I could just distinguish an open space, and then stairs, crumbled and broken, but still serviceable.

"Well?"

I was impatient.

"Let's get on, or are we gonna stand 'ere lookin' all night?"

Pippin took my hand, looking up at me. Not as far, it seemed, as he had been when I first met him, however. Whatever, it wasn't important at the moment. I must have been standing on a slope or something.

Gandalf gestured grandly with his staff.

"Let us away."

Boromir sighed, muttering to himself. I caught 'foolhardy' and 'black' and 'orcs' among his words- enough to get the gist of what he was saying.

"Come Boromir." I said, trailing back to him, "Nothin' t'be done now. 'Sides, I sh'll be glad to get away from this pool, I don' trust it."

Even as I spoke, I heard a plashing sound behind me.

"Oh, Valar dammit all."

I looked out over the surface of the water. Ripples.

_Oh Hell_

"Gandalf! Look to the lake! Something stirs!"

He wheeled around.

"Let us not stay to find out what it is. Fly!"

We rushed into the mine, and started up the stairs.

"The Doors! Dammit, how d'ye close th' Doors?!"

My voice, shrill with panic, echoed around the stairwell. I could see a tentacle, slimy and a dark gray-green, the fingered end groping around on the shore. In the water, there was a hint of a vast bulk, reeking of dead fish and Ulmo knows what else, shining wetly in the moonlight.

"Do none o' you see that out there?! Close the bloody Doors!

Aragorn and Boromir bounded sown the stairs, and closed the Doors with a shattering _boom_ which reverberated and echoed, nearly deafening us. The hobbits stuffed their cloaks in their ears; I shoved my fingers in mine. The assault on Legolas' delicate Elven ears made him wince, covering said ears with his pale, slender hands.

Then there was silence. I blinked with revulsion at the image of the Watcher which lingered in my mind. Ugh. The light of the torch Aragorn had so wisely prepared and the blue-white radiance of Gandalf's staff shone uncertainly in the musty, still dark.

"Well,"

Gandalf's voice sounded oddly muffled

"We now face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard; there are worse things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

"In the deep places of the world... huh! And thither we are going against my will. Who can lead us in this deadly dark, I'd like to know."

He had muttered under his breath, but in the wide hall, it echoed and magnified so that the whole Company could hear.

"Boromir, shut up."

He was acting like a spoiled toddler, I thought. Shut up and leave Gandalf be.

Gandalf arched an eyebrow at Boromir, frowning irritably

"I can, and I will. I have journeyed through the mines before. Come Gimli, you shall walk beside me. Now: follow my staff."

"But- but Gandalf."

Frodo was looking just as frightened and revolted as I felt.

"What was that, that _thing_?"

"I know not." Gandalf sounded weary. "Something has crept, or been driven, out of the dark waters under the mountain."

"You think, mayhap, it was a kraken?"

My voice sounded shaky and distorted, echoing off the walls.

_Was a kraken... a kraken... a kraken... kraken...ken... _

Gandalf looked at me from under the brim of his hat.

"And how, praytell, do you know about them? I do not believe it is not widely known in Rohan, that there are such creatures."

"Umm."

I had done it again.

"I, umm... I dunno. I just, uh, do."

I grinned hopefully at Gandalf, who shook his head, smiling, silver hair glinting in the light from his staff.

"Come."

So began our journey through Moria. Old deserted shafts, dusty galleries, crumbled staircases, gaping fissures which we had to leap, Moria was a labyrinth, a maze, a series of never-ending passages each wending its own interminable way to nowhere. At least, it seemed that way to me. Bones littered the floor, crunching under our feet or discarded in corners. Corpses too, preserved in the still air, dry and hollow, with arrows or daggers protruding from them lay in our path. We took slightly more care to avoid these.

Conversations were whispered and hurried, and I took care to avoid singing or humming as I usually did. The silence seemed to resent any invasion on its domain. Occasionally we stopped, and Gandalf allowed us another sip of Miruvor. Occasionally behind me, I heard the faint pitter-patter of feet, or a hissing breath. Gollum.

As we walked, I stared at my feet. Step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step... the monotony of it was maddening. Beneath our feet, the faint sound of water running echoed off the walls. _Splash, gurgle, plish, ripple, splish... _

I shivered and absentmindedly fiddled with my plait, which, in the dim light, hung down my back in a dully gleaming rope.

"Oi, Hal!"

It was Pippin

"Aye?"

"Why've we stopped?"

"Huh?"

We had stopped? I hadn't even noticed. It must be... yes. I looked up, to see Gandalf standing at the entrance to three tunnels, their mouths empty and black. I sniffed, wrinkling my nose in distaste.

"Gor, what's 'at smell?"

Pippin shrugged, looking up at Gandalf.

"Ah'm 'ungry."

"Me too. Damn you Pip- ye had t'go an' say that, dincha?"

"Wot?"

"That ye were 'ungry."

"Umm... Ah, uh, s'pose."

"I wasn' thinkin' 'bout it b'fore, now, cos o' ye- I am."

"Oh... sorry, Ah guess."

I smiled suddenly, what an incredibly inane conversation this was- were we honestly that bored, that we were reduced to quibbling over why I was hungry? Wow.

"Neh... 's a'right, Pippin. C'mon, let's siddown- might be a while 'til Gandalf figgers out which way t' take."

It was the right-hand way, if I remembered aright. Gandalf didn't like the smell of the left way, and he didn't like the feel of the middle, or maybe it was the other way 'round, I couldn't remember. I couldn't tell him though- there was no way in Middle-Earth I could pretend to know anything about caves and tunnels and still say I was one of the Rohirrim. Granted they had the Glittering Caves, Aglarond, but, they won't need to go there until the battle of Helms Deep.

I shrugged, and pulling out my pipe, leaned back against the rock and made myself as comfortable as I could. The smoke twined about my head, creating, if I had known, a halo in the light of the torch. I breathed in, the sweet scented leaf comforting and homey, even here, in this most forbidding of places.

Unconsciously I began to hum

_Oh Shenando' _

_I long to see you_

_And hear _

_Your rolling river_

_Oh Shenando'_

_I long to see you_

_Way, we're bound away_

_Across the wide Missouri... _

I sighed, memories going back to sophomore year in high school, in choir, singing at St. John's, being jealous of John Hardy who got to play the congas when Mr. C wouldn't let me, going to Chicago, hearing only Emma Jo, who sat behind me, when we sang...

No- stop thinking about that- I told myself- you'll only make yourself homesick. But it was too late. Images flooded my mind- my little brother, my friends, being in drama at school, my damnable American Lit. teacher, my bed, my room, with all its posters, my bookshelf, crammed to bursting with books and drawing and sketches I had done, my mothers disgusting vegetarian chili. I choked back a sniffle, but to no avail. Silently, a single tear traced its way down my cheek, hot on my face.

"C'mere Pip."

He looked over absently, then, at the sight of my wet eyes, blinked and scooted over. I drew him close, laying my head on his shoulder and letting my tears soak his weskit.

"Sorry Pip" I mumbled into his shirt.

He left off absently stroking my hair with one hand. I was surprised to find tears on his own face.

"Shh. 't'll be a'right..."

I shook my head, feeling suddenly warm and fuzzy inside, as I liked to say.

"Thanks Pip."

This emotional moment was cut off, however, before it could go any further, by an exclamation from Merry.

"Cummon ye two, get yerselves a room! We're movin' any'ow."

Pippin glared daggers at his cousin for a moment

"Huh... ge' 'rselves a room 'ndeed... says the infamous Meriadoc Brandybuck. Don' think Ah ha'n't seen ye an' tha' Chubb lass, wo's'ername – Begonia."

"Pip..."

"Wot?"

Pippin and I had answered simultaneously, and we both started laughing

"We're movin', ye empty-'eaded excuse fer a Took! We're gonna take a rest in that room."

He pointed over to the left of the three tunnel mouths, to where a door stood ajar. I started off, but the two hobbits were not yet quite finished

"Empty-'eaded, is it? Well, 'scuse me, Mister Addle-pate Brandybuck."

Merry stuck his lower lip out and tried to look pitiful- it didn't work

"Ah, get outtofit Mer. Cummon."

Sam and Merry and Pippin began to push forward, glad for a place to rest that was actually a room. Gandalf, however, held them back, blocking the way with his staff.

"Steady you three! We do not know what is inside yet. Let me go first."

Cautiously he entered, the rest of us following behind.

"There! See that?"

He was pointing at a hole in the middle of the floor. It had a low wall built around it, and broken and rusting chains trailing over the edge to spill onto the floor.

"If one of you had tripped and fallen in in the dark, you'd still be wondering when you were going to strike the bottom."

We set up camp then, around the walls of the room. I noticed Pippin, however, hovering around near the well. I hurried over to him.

"Pippin! Don't go anywhere near that well."

"Hmm?"

He swiveled around, and then, upon registering what I'd said, laughed.

"Why not then? Ye scared?"

"No- jus' don', a'right?" I blustered and fumbled- what to say? "'S like Gandalf said- ye neve' know."

"Ye are scared!" He crowed "Look 'ere- 's fine."

He started to sit down on the crumbling stone edge.

"Peregrin bloody Took!"

But it was too late. He sat down, and as he did, a loose stone slipped and tumbled down into the blackness. As it struck the walls on the way down, there were dull scrapes, as grating as fingernails on a chalkboard, and then finally, after several heartbeats, a dull _plunk _as it struck the water in some deep subterranean lake.

I put my head in my hand

"That's why."

"Oh."

Pippin had scrambled up and was now standing next to his pack, looking very abashed indeed and blushing to the tips of his pointy ears. The rosy hue almost glowed in the dimness, and it did not take Gandalf long to discover the culprit.

"Fool of a Took!"

Pippin flinched, as if expecting a blow, but none came.

"This is a serious business, not a, a hobbit walking party! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity! Now be quiet."

Against my better judgment, I spoke up.

"'E didn't do it a-purpose! 'e jus' sat down and alright neve'mind..."

I reminded myself never to incur Gandalf's temper again. The quick look he had flashed me was enough for me to blush as red as Pippin had and fall silent. Then there was silence. I didn't trust it. It hung heavy in the air, a feeling of trepidation coming with it. And then...

_tap, tap-tom, tom-tap_

Faint knocks coming out of the depths of the well, echoing off the walls.

_tom, tap-tap, tom-tap_

The company looked ill at ease and Gandalf seemed to stand even taller than usual, grown in stature as well as in anger.

"That is the sound of a hammer, or I have never heard one."

"Yes Gimli." Said Gandalf "And I do not like it. I was going to have us sleep the night here, but now, I fear we must away. Come- I think I know which path now to take."

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. We were supposed to stay the night and Pippin was supposed to take first watch but then Gandalf was supposed to relieve him and then have a smoke while the rest of us slept... Well- that was what had happened in the book, anyway. I frowned, irritated as I always was, when, having anticipated something with smug certainty, I find that I had, in fact, been wrong all along. But wait- why had Gandalf decided to continue? Could it be that my mere presence changed things? What if because I was there, Gandalf didn't fall, or Boromir ended up taking the Ring? What could I do, even without trying? Oh shit. I had been trying to make a difference before- fix things that would be fixed. I hadn't considered the effect they might have on future events. But then we were moving again, and I had no time for further thought.

As it turned out, I had been correct- we were to go down the right-hand path. A set of stairs- like all the others we had encountered, broken and crumbled, led up into an empty blackness which might have been a hall.

As I took a deep breath, I noticed that the air smelt sweeter here; less stale and musty. I had not realized how good fresh air could taste. Up the stairs we went- more stairs- Valar above, how many stairs could one place have- until we stopped, and Gandalf held up his staff.

"Here, I think, we may risk a little more light."

And with that, he spoke a word, and a flash of light came from his upraised staff. In that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of many pillars, black and glittering, as if made of onyx, holding up a vaulted ceiling, far above our heads. My eyes widened, my brain hardly able to comprehend the awesome hugeness of the hall. How far up had that ceiling been? I could not tell, and I wasn't about to guess. And the pillars? Such was their girth that I doubted the whole Fellowship, with linked hands, could encircle one. I shook my head, staring, even as the hobbits beside me, and Gimli in front of me were doing.

"Well." Sam muttered, "That's an eye-opener and no mistake."

"No mistake at all..."

How, I thought, could anyone build something so immense, so majestic, so... I could hardly find words to describe what I was seeing.

"Come now!"

Gandalf's clipped tones interrupted my reverie. So, we made our long way down the hall, to where a door, made of dried and warped wood, and cold iron, stood ajar. I knew that door. The Chamber of Mazarbul. A shaft of blue-white light slanted through it, golden dust motes floating their lazy way down to the floor, which, I realized, was strewn with skeletons clad in rusting bits of armor. Dwarven and Orcish ironmongery littered the ground around them.

"Och!"

Gimli rushed to the door, and upon seeing what was inside, stopped abruptly. He started forward again, peering at a block of stone inside- smooth and white, unlike the rest of the rock we had seen. Suddenly Gimli gave an anguished wail and sank to the ground in front of the tomb, for a tomb I knew it to be.

The rest of the Company made its cautious way forward, Gandalf at the head. I closed my eyes, waiting. It was silent save for Gimli's occasional broken sobs. Then Gandalf spoke heavily.

"Here it is written in the languages of Dwarves and Men: 'Here lies Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then, it's as I feared."

The only noise to be heard was the ringing sound of iron on stone, as Gimli let his head drop onto Balin's tomb.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm

A/N: Sorry bout the wait, my stupid computer decided to break… just before I had a project due, at that… so I couldn't do any writing, and then the play opened the next weekend (Captain Also! Y'all know it!), and life was happening, and then I wasn't in a writing-y mood, and yeah… but here I am! Finally! You can resume living now.

Disclaimer: No I don't own the Lord of the Rings…

Another A/N: My thoughts are signified thus: That's it bitches, come and get it So you don't get confused.

We stood silent, as Frodo and Gimli and Gandalf grieved. I bowed my head, feeling awkward. I felt sorry for the faceless dwarf laid in cold sleep beneath stone, adorned, no doubt, with gold and precious gems, axe by his side, perhaps already rusting. He was brave, foolish but brave, and I paid silent homage to him and his noble attempt to reclaim his ancient home.

Finally, with a sniff, Gimli raised his head, darkling eyes bright. We stood about for a moment, before starting to look around for any clue as to Balin's fate. The Book, where was the book? I knew it was here somewhere, but… no, not by the side of the sarcophagus, as it had been in the movie, then where?

"Aha!"

It was Gandalf, and he was holding a huge book, bound in leather and iron, its cover slashed and burnt, crumbling pages streaked with dust and blood. As he opened it, the yellowed leaves crackled and broke. The wizard squinted at the page, trying to make out the words underneath the blood and marks of age.

"It would appear" said Gandalf "That this is a record of the fortunes of Balin's folk… it is difficult to make out, but I would guess that it began nigh on thirty years ago, when they founded the colony… Here, listen: _ We drove out orcs from the great gate, _um, and I cannot read the next couple paragraphs, here: _We have taken the twenty-first hall of the North End to dwell in…_and then _Balin has taken up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul." _

"The Chamber of Records." Translated Gimli. "That, I guess, is where we are now."

"And the hall we passed through must be the twenty-first of the North End." Mused Gandalf "Now… _gold _and _Durin's axe_… and something _helm. _And, ah! _Balin is now Lord of Moria. We found true silver_ - something _mithril… _and there are several pages of the same sort, until here, a new hand starts, large and bold, using the elvish characters… but, alas, he had ill news to record in a fair hand. _Balin, Lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale… went to look in Mirrormere… shot from behind a stone. We slew the orc, but… many more. _Ah! Here is the last page of all… this is grim reading- I fear their end was cruel. Listen! _We cannot get out; they have taken the Bridge and the second hall_. _We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out...They are coming._"

A profound silence fell about the Company. A shiver rippled its way down my spine and I shuddered, taken with a sudden horror of the chamber.

"_We cannot get out_" muttered Gimli.

"So ended the attempt to retake Moria." Gandalf's voice fell dead in the still air "It was gallant but foolish. But now, I fear, we must say farewell to Balin, son of Fundin. Here he shall lie, in the halls of his fathers, until the ending of days. We will take this book, and perhaps Gimli, you can take it to Dáin if you get the chance. Now let us go!"

"Where?" asked Boromir "Which way are we to take?"

"Back to the Hall! If this is indeed the Chamber of Mazarbul, than the Twenty-first hall, the one we came through, should be on the seventh level, that is six above the Gate, now-"

But, even as Gandalf spoke, a rolling _Boom _that shook the ground beneath our feet issued from somewhere deep within the disused depths of the mine. The hobbits and I gasped, and Boromir sprang towards the door. Then again _doom doom. _It was as if the very mines had been turned into a vast drum, the way the sounds reverberated and echoed

"Drums in the deep" I muttered

"They are coming!" cried Legolas

"We cannot get out." Gimli repeated

Boromir, who was closest to the door, was looking out. With a groan he withdrew and setting his mouth in a mirthless smile, announced

"They have a cave troll."

"Ahh… Why did I delay? Now we are caught as they were before. But… I was not there then, we will-"

_Doom doom_

'_Doom doom_ went the drums in the deep' I recalled the passage that I had read so very many times, loving it and the thrill of horror it sent through me. Now I liked it slightly less.

"Shut the doors!"

Aragorn was shouting frantically as he and Boromir rushed towards the half-open door.

"Nay! Wait a moment!"

It was Gandalf. Hastening forward he drew himself up until he seemed taller than was physically possible and bellowed in a formidable voice

"Who comes hither to disturb the rest of Balin Lord of Moria?"

The orcs outside weren't phased in the slightest. I heard a chorus of rough, grating laughter, and a solitary voice sneer nastily "Woul'n't ye like t'know?"

_Doom boom_

The two men, at a nod from Gandalf, shut the doors with a resounding _bang, _wedging it tight with broken swordblades and rusted axes. But even as they did so, there was a sinking sensation in my stomach. The warped and rotting wood couldn't possibly hold against the teeming horde of orcs out there. But with that thought, my resolve suddenly stiffened and I laid my hand on my sword hilt.

Calm B, calm. You fought those wolves and were fine. Think of the ride of the Rohirrim to the Pelennor Fields. Think bloodlust and battle-glory and all that. Play the part, you said you're from Rohan, now act like it

I took a deep breath as a grin twisted my face. I had always enjoyed a good fight. With a metallic whisper I drew my sword. For a moment I studied the leaf-shaped blade, the way the cold light from the window high above made it look alive with liquid fire, the runes etched into the glinting fuller. Then I squared myself, taking on the fighting stance Boromir had drilled into me so very many times when we were still in Rivendell, and waited.

That's right bitches, come and get it.

The door was bulging inwards, the wood straining, creaking and snapping. My eyes narrowed and I sheathed my sword, and slung the previously forgotten bow from my back. Nocking an arrow to the string I waited.

Yeah, y'all know it. Fear me.

Then, with a crunching noise and a shower of splinters, a crude mattock-head chopped its way through the rotting wood of the door. There was a hiss as Aragorn, Legolas and I loosed our arrows. There was a ragged squeal. My arrow, somewhat to my surprise, had not struck the door, but gone through the hole, though it was hardly a wide target. I shrugged and strung another arrow, firing it and as it hit another orc, I hissed, grinning feral pleasure.

"They're breaking through!"

At a shout from Aragorn, I replaced my bow and once again drew my sword.

"Come on… come an get it"

_Crash_

The door had been ripped clean off its hinges. As I looked, a huge form forced its way through, breaking off a sizable chunk of the wall above the door on its way. The troll. It was huge, absolutely immense. From the elephantine feet to the knobbly bald pate it stood fifty feet, maybe more. From its hands hung a huge war hammer, which it flailed about in its rage. Dully malevolent eyes squinted in the light from the small window high in the chamber wall. From a spiked collar around its neck, a chain hung, though, I was vaguely pleased to note, it looked like the orc who had held it was no longer among the living. The hobbits and I gaped.

"Bloody- bloody 'ell…"

But, then there was no more time for wonder, the horde behind the door, satisfied with our reaction, had decided to come in. Snarling hoarsely, screeching battle cries in their foul language, they leapt through the great hole where once the door had stood. Now it had come to it, and, hardly even thinking, I went into one of the patterns Boromir and Aragorn had shown me.

_Slash, parry, thrust, circle once, ripost _and… I'd just killed my first orc.

I grinned savagely, and unceremoniously dumped the corpse on the ground. I lunged at another orc, hewing off his head. Black blood gushed from the wound.

Suddenly, there in front of me, was the troll. With a yell ("Bloody wanker!"), I stepped forward and drawing back my blade, stabbed at the massive leg. I had no fear for the sword, it was elven-made, and, yes, the bloody steel bit deep into the trolls flesh.

With an unearthly howl, it jerked back, catching me a blow with its club. I flew through the air, to land on my back, feeling as though I'd broken all my bones.

"Fucking-A… sodding, bloody…"

I grated out from between clenched teeth a string of curses any sailor would've been proud of. Oh, I was in agony. Such pain I could never remember. A dull, throbbing ache throughout my entire body, no part of me was not in pain, even down to my toes.

remind me to never, ever, ever do that again

Hacking at the legs of another orc, I got up and with a yell, joined battle again.

"Take that! Tosser!"

Time seemed to have no meaning in the heat of battle; it was simply a seething mass of orcs, who I was trying to kill before they killed me. Black form after black form fell back from my blade, now stained and dripping with their foul blood. At times, from the corner of my eye, I would see Boromir, fighting like nothing I had ever seen, the orcs breaking upon him as if he was a pillar of rock, or Gandalf, a whirling, grey-clad form, his sword, Glamdring, glowing palely.

Now, as I cut down yet another monstrous, sneering face, and turned 'round, a searing heat scored down my side. I gasped with pain and shock, and then, growling, turned to see an orc, huge though- thickset and man-high, smirking evilly.

"M'lady…"

"Bastard!"

I ran him through. He looked, with some surprise, at the blade which seemed suddenly to be growing out of his belly, then eyed me with contempt, before collapsing with a dull _thud_.

Suddenly, there was a great cry from Sam

"Mr. Frodo!! No!"

I looked around, wondering what it was. Ah- the troll had stabbed Frodo, or at least tried to. I knew his mithril coat had prevented it, but, as I realized everyone else thought the Ringbearer was dead, I composed my face into what I hoped was and expression of shock and horror.

After a moment of thick silence, the entire fellowship moved as one, to attack the troll. Pippin shrieked and threw himself at the troll, slashing and hacking wildly. Legolas' hands were a blur, firing arrow after arrow at the great beast. Merry was panicked, throwing rocks at the troll, though to little avail. Sam was hysterically slicing and slashing at one of the troll's feet, regardless of how it flailed. After several moments of the frenzied attack, there was a pause, and then a twang and a hiss as Legolas loosed his last arrow, which buried itself deep in the troll's throat. It swayed for a moment, looking bewildered, then, with an indescribably mournful sound, a mixture between a bellow, a moan, and a groan; it collapsed with a ground-shaking _thud _that raised dust from the floor. Then all was still.

There was silence. As I came out of my battle fury, I realized that I felt sorry for the troll. After all it had been driven, probably out of sleep, into a fury of sharp swords and stinging arrows, probably tormented by the orcs as well. Granted, it had had to be dealt with; trolls were not peaceful creatures, but still… I shook my head- no use mourning over fallen enemies.

Sam and Aragorn were hunched over Frodo's limp form, huddled on the floor. I rushed over. Tear streaks cut through the dirt on Sam's face. He squinched up his nose, obviously trying not to cry, murmuring "Master, Master, Master. Come on Mr. Frodo, it's yer Sam callin'. Wake up, Frodo me dear, wake up." Aragorn's face seemed stoic, but I could see the worry evident in his eyes.

Frodo suddenly stirred, groaning softly. Sam started, and then started sobbing outright, as Frodo sat up, wincing.

"My dear Sam! Do calm down, I am quite alright."

Aragorn was gaping

"But- but that spear would've skewered a wild boar."

"Well, it didn't skewer me, I'm glad to say!" Frodo laughed, then clutched at his ribs, grimacing.

Taking in the curious looks of the rest of the Fellowship, Frodo unbuttoned the top of his shirt to reveal a hauberk of silver, shining in some unseen light.

"Mithril" breathed Gimli.

"Well, well, it seems that there is more to our Mister Baggins than meets the eye."

Gandalf sounded wryly amused, now that the battle was over. However, his light mood was not to last long. Startling us out of our relief, a drumbeat came from the depths of the mine.

_Doom doom_

We had worse to deal with yet. I shut my eyes, as if that could block out the reality of what was going to happen. I couldn't interfere, I mustn't. Gandalf's eyes had widened and he dashed towards the door, shouting

"Come! To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach grew.

Well… let's go

I sprinted after Gandalf, as he made his surprisingly fast way down the 21st hall, followed by the rest of the Company.

My feet pounded along, seemingly in time with the drumbeats, when they sounded. I could hear, behind us, the snarls of the orcs, as they closed in, their armor skittering against the stone like the feet of so many cockroaches. Vaguely, I became aware that we were slowing as the orcs closed in on either side, in front, behind, even pouring out from cracks in the ceiling and floor.

I cannot remember much more of what happened after that. Only the dreadful _boom_ of the drums, and my breath, coming harsh and ragged in my throat, and the Balrog, in all it's terrible fiery glory. I remember stone cracking in the heat of the hellfire that surrounded us, and a gaping abyss, deeper than thought could comprehend, and I remember, with painful clarity, Gandalf's last words, as he clung desperately to a broken bridge. I can see, in my minds eye, his clutching fingers, scrabbling frantically for a hold on the dusty stone, the fear in those eyes, their twinkle now gone, his bearded lips, moving to say those fateful words: "Fly, you fools!" I remember a gray figure falling into the yawning chasm, his robes flapping feebly about him, plummeting out of sight, into the black deep.

As I stood outside the East-Gate of Moria, silent tears made their way down my face, drops of sorrow wept for the man I knew was not really dead. The stones offered no comfort. The hobbits clung together, sobbing desperately, and I felt utterly helpless- I could not help them.

Wiping my sword clean on my cloak, I rubbed my face dry with the edge of my sleeve and limped over to Aragorn.

"Come."

His voice was even, devoid of emotion.

"We make for the woods of Lothlorien."


End file.
